


Unspoken Thing

by ManicMonday



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Childhood Trauma, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kissing, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:20:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29102415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManicMonday/pseuds/ManicMonday
Summary: “Clay-“ she says, sucking in a breath. “I-”, Before she can finish, he practically leaps up from his stool enveloping her in a tight hug. He’s so big, long lanky arms grasping all the way around her. She’s stunned, but only for a moment before she returns the hug, burying her face in his hoodie and letting the tears flow freely....A Dream/OC love story. Can be read as self-insert fanfiction if you want :)
Relationships: Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF)/Original Female Character(s), Clay | Dream/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 63





	1. the moment

**Author's Note:**

> Please DO NOT READ if you are sensitive to ANY of the following subjects or are not in the right place to process such topics: Emotional Abuse, Physical Abuse, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, PTSD, Trauma, Panic Attacks, Anxiety, Suicide, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide attempts, and Extreme Emotions.
> 
> Help is always there if you need it, please know you are loved and appreciated by SO many people. 
> 
> This is written with an OC I created, but it can also be read as self-insert (aka y/n) fanfiction if you want!
> 
> **If any content creator mentioned in this fic says they are uncomfortable with this type of FanFiction, I will delete this work. Please let me know if I am not already aware of something a creator has said that I might've missed, thanks!**
> 
> (not beta read. we die like men)

It’s 23:47.

All she can do is stare at the clock, throwing her head back in exasperation. Only 13 minutes until she was 21, 13 minutes until she spent her 21st birthday— arguably one of the last important birthdays until 50— completely alone.

She groans, turning over in her bed, burying her head in her pillows. It wasn’t really her fault that she was alone… not exactly. Her roommates had all gone back to their families for Christmas break, leaving her completely alone. It wasn’t unusual for her to spend Christmas alone— she’d done so for the past 3 years— so what’s one more? There was that one year where Sarah had taken her to her parents lake house in Washington for New Years Eve. That had been the best New Years Eve she’d ever had.

This year, while Sarah had extended the invitation to come again— this time for Christmas— she had politely declined citing; “I’d rather focus on my research thesis… There’s still so much I have to finish before the new semester and I need to make use of the lab.”

Whether Sarah knew the campus research lab was closed over Christmas break or not was up in the air, but she agreed, still leaving the offer out there for her.

At this very moment, she was loathing the fact she had declined the offer. Even though COVID was still in full swing, Sarah’s family had offered to let her join them for the holidays, with open arms. She suddenly felt like crying, feeling all the emotions start to build and tumble out.

Her roommates were the only real people she had in her life, having not made too many friends since fleeing across the country. She had trust issues— she can thank her shitty mother for that— and it had always been hard to invest in new relationships, the fear of ruining them all too real.

Checking the clock again, it read 23:54.

“Christ," she muttered.

Maybe she’d have the energy to get up, pull herself together and do something good for herself. The looming sense of being completely alone still hung thick in the air, and all she could muster was a weak sigh as she rolled over on her back. Staring at the ceiling dejectedly, she began to count the glow-in-the-dark stars that plastered her ceiling. It was a gift from Tam— one of her roommates— who knew she had a hard time falling asleep.

Settling into the routine, she counted them one by one, methodically trying to lull herself to fall asleep— maybe even forget about the fact she was about to turn 21… completely alone.

Before she could finish, her phone began to buzz rhythmically beside her. She immediately recognized the ringtone— a specific one set for a very specific someone.

She already knew who it was, but double-checking to confirm, she stared back at the screen with blank eyes. It was Clay… Calling at this ungodly hour for who knows what.

There was definitely something between the two of them. Her roommates had even picked up on it in the past month, noticing the way she preferred to eat dinner at his place or just go on long drives with him. She wasn’t completely sure why she was so drawn to him. Maybe it was his charming demeanor or his perfect smile. She groans, trying to get that specific image of him out of her head.

They had met each other about a year ago through a friend-of-a-friend’s birthday function. They immediately hit it off, exchanging numbers, and hanging out ever since. The more she got to know him, the stronger she felt for him. He was apparently a very popular Minecraft streamer. She had never been interested in video games all that much, but she had spent time with him watching streams and letting him explain everything that was happening.

It was nice— knowing that side of him. _Dream,_ they called him, but she only knew him as Clay.

And besides the strong dynamic she spent carefully crafting with her roommates, she had never really felt authentic love from anyone— especially not from a boy. Clay, however, made her feel safe, loved, and because of that, he made her nervous. The fear of being abused, or being manipulated too strong to let herself return that authentic feeling.

Between the two, there existed that ‘Unspoken Thing’. At some point they had both accepted it, understanding that neither were in quite the position to be serious about whatever they had between the two of them.

When the buzzing finally stopped, she fell back sighing at the clock. 00:02. She was finally, officially, 21.

“Woohoo," she thought aloud, to no one in particular. The wave emotions and loneliness came back all of a sudden in full force and she couldn’t suck in the tears that started creeping their way down her cheek.

She remembers this exact day 6 years ago. That had been one of the worst days of her life. She always remembers. She’ll probably live her entire life without ever being to forget that day. It stung to even think about, bringing a new wave of fresh tears.

Maybe she should call Sarah, or Tam… maybe even Moira. But no. She couldn’t even pick up the phone for Clay, why would she call her roommates? She knew they were all most likely spending quality time with their families and the thought of bothering them made her sink further into the comforter.

A light buzz startled her again, and she wiped away the tears checking her phone.

**iMessage:**

_Clay_

Call me. I have a surprise for you :)

Against her better judgment, she swiped up, responding.

_Sage_

What on earth could you be surprising me with at midnight… on a weekday?

She knew his sleep schedule was stranger than most, so she’s not really surprised he’s awake. It takes a few seconds, but the typing bubble immediately pops up, the response quickly following.

_Clay_

If you actually picked up, then you’d find out ;)

She leaves it opened, not having the energy to respond. There’s a twinge of guilt that follows, but before she can shut off her phone, he calls her again.

This time it’s a FaceTime _._ Against her better judgment, she accepts the call, pointing the camera up so he can only see her forehead.

“Sage! Come to your door!” he starts, his face not showing. She doesn’t immediately recognize where he is, but he’s clearly outside moving at a rapid pace.

“Why," she croaks out, voice gravelly and rough. She avoids sniffling, not wanting to give away the fact that he had interrupted her pity party.

“Just come!” he says without a beat, immediately hanging up a second later.

She groans, swinging her legs off her bed, slipping on crocs and waddling through the hall, past the kitchen, and straight to the door. She peeps through the spy hole, seeing nothing. Her heart jumps for a moment, thinking back to those memories of this day.

‘ _God, just let me forget please’_ she wipes furiously at her eyes trying to throw the memories as far away as possible ‘ _It’s just a trigger response_ ’ she thinks to herself.

She’s been through this quite a few times, always having her roommates to guide her through the oncoming panic attack. But she’s alone and she suddenly feels a new wave of panic. The panic piles onto her previous emotions, building, threatening to spill over. Before she can spiral further, there’s a gentle rapping at the door. Peaking again, sure enough, Clay is standing there, a large box in his hands, smiling with that stupid smile he always has.

It was pure, sweet, filled with nothing but kindness and compassion. She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, tension releasing from her shoulders. Undoing the deadbolt and door lock, gently opening the door— trying to not wake the neighbors across the hall— she comes face to face with Clay. He stands above her, towering over her. He’s almost a foot taller, even though she’s already 5’6” herself.

He doesn’t even pause before her brushes past her and plops the box onto the kitchen island. She stands there for a moment, collecting her thoughts, before she re-locks the door and turns to face him.

He’s pulling out the bar stools, sitting himself down in one, and adjusting the box.

“Dude why did you not even tell me it was your birthday. I had to find out from your stinkin’ roommates and even then-“ his sentence breaks off as he swivels the chair to face her.

She suddenly feels like she wants to disappear, to not exist in this very moment. She’s completely aware of how she’s dressed, how she must look. Curly hair sticking up in all directions, eyes red and puffy from crying, wrinkled and crumpled sweatshirt she hasn’t taken off in at least three days. She’s aware of how his eyes rake over her form, worry creasing his brow. She hasn’t showered in at least a week and the emotions are suddenly starting to come back in full force. 

She doesn’t want to feel this way— weak and vulnerable. She doesn’t want him to see her like this. She doesn’t want to think back to six years ago. She just wants to go along with whatever stupid thing he has planned up, to sit down and laugh and forget about everything— like they always do.

They’ve brushed over her past— her history with her parents— but they’d never had time to go over it in detail. Very few people knew the full extent of what she’d been through and that was completely intentional. She didn’t want him to know. She didn’t need him to look at her like she might break if he said the wrong thing. She wanted to maintain that barrier between the two of them.

But in this moment, with tears beginning to spill out, vision quickly blurring, she knew that maintaining that barrier was no longer going to be possible.

“Clay-“ she says, sucking in a breath. “I-I”, Before she can finish he practically leaps up from his stool enveloping her in a tight hug. He’s so big, long lanky arms grasping all the way around her. She’s stunned, but only for a moment before she returns the hug, burying her face in his hoodie and letting the tears flow freely.

They’d hugged before, but never something as intimate as this. This hug was different. The emotion, the action behind it held too much weight for her to think about. Rather than get caught up in it, she just melts in his hold letting herself relax.

‘ _I’m safe here_ ’, she thinks to herself. ‘ _I can forget about it here._ ’

“It’s ok,” he coos, “You can let it out, I’m right here.”

It isn’t a heavy exchange of words, just pure emotion as she openly starts to sob. She lets it out, heaving and crying just letting herself finally… _feel_.

The loneliness, the pain from years of built-up trauma, all of it finally flowing free for the first time in a long, long time. She shakes and screams into him, just letting out pure raw emotion. It’s so much, she can barely stand. He just gently rocks her, swaying, never saying a word, letting her snot into his hoodie like a complete baby.

They stay like that for so long, him rocking and holding her. She doesn’t let go, grasping onto him like a lifeline. He rubs gentle circles on her back, never telling her to shush or slow down. He just takes it and she couldn’t be more thankful for his calm, reassuring presence.

He’s always like this with her— patient and willing. He never pushes her or pries into her feelings. There it exists— that ‘Unspoken Thing’. It wasn’t a tense feeling, but definitely unspoken. He had gently pried once, and all she could return to him, without hurting him, was that she wasn’t ready for anything serious.

That was true. She definitely wasn’t ready for a relationship, especially one with Clay. He had been the one person, outside of her roommates, that she had ever gotten this close with. The fear of ruining that bond with a friendship was terrifying— she had a feeling he felt similarly.

Once the tears stop flowing and her sobs die down, he breaks the hug. His forest green eyes bare into hers, an intensity overtaking the moment. They glow as he looks down on her, something enigmatic hiding behind those curious lids. His brows are knit together in concern and her heart sinks at the idea of making him worry about her. Breaking the moment, he gently takes her elbows, guiding and supporting her to the kitchen island. Her legs are shaky, but she takes the cue, sitting herself down on the stool he had pulled out earlier.

“Thank you,” she mutters, not having the courage or will to look into his eyes. She can see him smile before he walks around to one of the cupboards, grabbing her favorite Star Wars cup and filling it with water. He places it in front of her, which she greedy accepts.

She sips it down quickly, her hand still slightly shaking from the moment. The water burns down her throat— hoarse and raw from crying.

She realizes she hasn’t let herself cry like that in… _years_. Not since leaving for school. That time, she remembers it so distinctly, she had been completely alone. This time she was in the presence of someone who cared for her… Someone who _she_ cared for.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t pry, just sat in his original seat, moving the box aside. Once again, green eyes land on her and she suddenly feels so conscious of how she looks. Setting the cup down, she wipes at her nose with her sweater sleeve and sighs.

“I-I’m so sorry…” She states, finally meeting his eyes. He looks angry, then confused at her words, before he finally returning a smile, chuckling lightly.

“You don’t have to apologize… Please don’t apologize”, he corrects himself. It’s less of a request and more of an invitation. An invitation to not feel guilty, to not have to apologize.

The smile returns, this time gentle and willing. He’s so patient and she would kill him for it if she ever had the chance.

“I kinda,” She weakly gestures to his sweatshirt, “Snot all over your sweatshirt.”

He laughs, this time fully. It fills the room and it’s enough to make her chuckle too. He adds levity to the moment, wiping at the wet spot where she had just been minutes prior.

“I don’t mind. I didn’t really like this sweater anyways”, he shrugs returning his attention to her face. His expression softens ever so carefully. “Do you want to talk about it?” He offers.

No strings attached, no threat behind his words. Just an easy offer.

“I don’t want to put a-anything onto you. There’s so much I’ve always wanted to share…” She hiccups, frowning and looking down at the counter. He gently takes her hand, soft skin squeezing as a reassurance. “I don’t want to burden you with this,” she gestures to herself wildly.

He squeezes again, meeting her eyes yet again. “You’re never a burden Sage. Never. You should never feel like you can’t talk about anything to me. Ever.”

She feels overwhelmed by the statement, nearly drawing back, but she doesn’t. She just nods and takes a deep breath. “If I tell you, you have to promise to not judge…” She intentionally pauses, searching his face for a response. He nods earnestly. She takes a breath, overcome with the feelings of what she’s about to say.

Her breath hitches and she can feel the tears beginning to spill back over. He interjects, grabbing both of her hands this time.

“Hey- hey look at me Sage,” He says softly. She does, gnawing at her bottom lip. “Take your time. It’s ok. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.” She nods, steadying herself.

“When I-I was very young,” she starts through the sniffles, “My dad killed himself after a very physical altercation with my mother.”

Clay nods gently, never commenting or pushing her for more details. He sits there listening, holding her hand and rubbing light circles over her palm.

“I was devastated. We had been pretty close and it was hard on the whole family. After, my mom… S-She became very…”

‘ _There is no right way to say this…_ ’ She thinks. 

“…abusive. Like very abusive. I was only in middle school at the time, so it was hard to understand what was happening to me and I never knew how to ask for help. I blamed myself for her abuse, for what _she_ was doing to _me_.” He looked so pained listening to her, attempting to keep his face neutral. She couldn’t think straight, couldn’t even process the fact she was telling him these very— extremely— personal details about her life. Her eyes flitted down, counting the lines on the counter, trying to avoid his gaze.

“My life was a wreck. I couldn’t make friends, had no one to talk to. The one time I went to tell someone, it had been my freshman English teacher. It was the day before winter break, and I knew I’d be at home alone with my Mother. I didn’t have anyone else… I really didn’t. So I told her about my mom. She listened, but… never did anything. She just told me, ‘You’re overreacting, Sage.’” She makes air quotes with her free hand. “When I went home that day, my mother had received an email from the school, referencing the conversation I had with my teacher," She starts shaking again, the emotions from that night starting to replay in her head.

She feels her breath hitch in her throat, lungs constricting. Clay immediately notices, scooting his stool closer and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. He holds her head to his chest, softly rubbing and raking his hands through her hair. The effect is almost immediate, as she melts into the contact and breathes with him. His heart softly thumps in her ear, voice rumbling through his chest.

“It’s ok, take your time,” He mumbles, continuing to hold her.

“The teacher, even after what she had said to me, had told the school administration, and they had contacted my mom stating, ‘Your daughter said some concerning things to her English teacher and wanted to make you aware of it.’” She scoffs at the memory, thinking how absurd and how poorly the school had handled the whole situation.

“My mother, in absolute rage, d-did things to me…” She skimps over the details, not wanting to relive those few nights of hell. “After, I was so lost. So lost… I never had friends to begin with, rather a few acquaintances but other than that, no one. I was alone. It was my birthday and I had no-one…S-So when my mom was at work, I stole her valium and oxy and took it all. All of it.” She repeats it like it’s not true. But she remembers the feeling and the pain that followed.

“That was six years ago… to the date.”

Clay doesn’t react, doesn’t move, just continues his physical reassurance. She tries to forget, squeezing her eyes shut to stop the flow of tears threatening to return.

She continues, hiccuping her way through the words. “I-I don’t remember everything, but I remember walking out of the house, down the street, and that’s where my memory fades. Apparently, someone on the street found me, face down in a gutter, nearly dead.”

Clay sucks in a breath, this time offering a slight reaction. He just continues to hold her, like she might break or disappear from his grasp.

“All I know is that I woke up in a hospital, surrounded by doctors. I had been on life support for 5 days…” She pauses, rubbing at her throat from the memory. It was reflex, whenever she thought about it. So much pain, so much agony, all ever-present behind those memories.

“After that, I spoke to police, then to therapists, and I was put into foster care. I don’t really know what happened to my mom, I never asked. I gave my statement to the police and a judge took care of the rest.” She shakes, thinking about her mom still being out there… _somewhere_.

Pulling back from her, he gently takes her face in his hands. Her heart squeezes, suddenly aware of the newfound intimacy they shared. She was pouring herself out to him, giving away parts of herself she vowed to never share. It felt so weird to be sitting there, his gentle hands cradling her face. But instead of loathing the feeling, she leaned in, embracing the touch— something that she never realized she’d been missing.

Bringing his hands back down to the counter, she continued. “Therapy was helping, but I couldn’t get far enough from home… From the memories, my stupid foster parents, just away from everything.”

She’d grown up in Florida, Clay knew this. They shared that actually, him having grown up in Orlando and her having grown up in Jacksonville. It’s how they really bonded— over their home state— laughing over shared stories of crazy neighbors and experiences you could only have from living in Florida.

“When I got the ok from the judge, I booked it out of Florida and moved here. I met Sarah, Tam, Moira, and Riley at school and we all hit it off immediately. I moved in with them and ever since I guess I’ve just been focused on my research-” She coughs on her words, going back to sipping on the water. Finishing the glass with a small gasp, she continues to cough, throat still dry and sore.

“Here,” Clay lightly takes the glass from her hands, going back around to the faucet to refill it. Sitting back down with a sigh, she takes it from him, gratefully chugging the rest.

Returning to his stool, his hand rubs gentle circles on her back. It relieves the pressure of everything that’s happening in the moment. She knows she’ll regret it later, but right now his eyes make her want to melt and she’s never felt safer than she does at this moment.

“I’ve never liked the holidays— or today for that matter— because of everything. I never had anyone to celebrate with and I guess I loathe remembering everything. Plus, I’ve never really had a family to share it with… I’m usually all alone.” She gestures weakly at the empty apartment around her.

When her roommates were around, the place was filled to the brim with a vibrant atmosphere. The group had become so close over their years at school, even though they couldn’t have been more different.

“I mean it’s my 21st birthday and I’m spending it completely alone for the fourth year in a row…”

The tears threaten to return, and she can’t quite meet Clay’s eyes again. She drops her head into her arms on the counter, trying to will away the feeling welling its way back up her throat.

“That’s why I came here silly,” He chuckles; a deep soft sound. His hand never leaves her back, and when she peers out from her arms, he’s looking back at her with an intensity that leaves her cheeks feeling hot. “Oh- I even brought you a gift!” He exclaims as if he had forgotten.

His hand leaves her back, reaching over the counter and grabbing the box he had brought in with him. It’s not wrapped, but there’s some messy sharpie writing on the tops that reads, ‘ _For the coolest girl in the whole wide world_ ’ with a little heart at the end. Her heart softens, admiring his dorky-ness.

“You don’t have to open it, you can wait, but I remember you saying something about needing a very specific part for your PC…” He smiles, eyes softening ever so slightly.

She immediately knows what he’s referencing and she gapes at him. “You. Did. Not.”

“I did,” he giggles, letting it turn to a full belly laugh as she grabs the box and opens it.

It was filled with mint green paper confetti, making her heart swell. She had only ever mentioned that specific shade of green was her favorite color _once_ maybe _months_ ago… And he had remembered all this time. There were some of her favorite candies dotted about and a large bottle of Tito’s. But, what caught her eye, was the PC graphics card buried at the very bottom.

“Clay! H-How did you even know?! I mean I know I mentioned it like months ago that I was building my own PC but…” She didn’t even know what to say.

“Of course I remembered!” He smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I kind of had to double-check to make sure it was the right one with your roommate, but I never forgot.”

For the first time that night, she smiles, like really smiles. And the emotions start to build again, but this time it isn’t sadness or loneliness, but rather happiness. And while she had her roommates— her best friends— she has never felt this way over someone.

“I… I don’t know what to say. Thank you Clay. Thank you.” She looks him in the eyes, giving him a teary smile before pulling him into another hug. He melts into it, chuckling softly.

“You don’t ever have to thank me. That’s what friends do, right?”

She pulls away, sniffling. “Oh, so we’ve reached the friend stage I see?” Chuckling, crinkling her nose, she sits back.

Suddenly she’s all too aware of how close he is to her, hand resting gently above her knee.

The smile falls from his face, and she’s filled with a sense of dread. Had she overstepped? Did she say the wrong thing? He notices her shift and reassures her by delicately tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

She feels her face heat again for what must’ve been the millionth time that night as he softly cups her cheek again. His thumb wipes back the drying tears, making her lean into his delicate touch.

There it is. That ‘Unspoken Thing’.

“Can _I_ share something?” He asks, voice much quieter than usual. He looks nervous, knee bouncing slightly. She offers her hand, just as he usually does, and he takes it gently.

She knows what he’s about to say— she can feel the gears turning in his head. “Ever since I met you, Sage, you’ve always been able to make me smile… Like genuinely smile. I’ve never met someone as dedicated and hardworking as you. I know you’ve felt hesitant about being open with me,” she flinches, but he immediately soothes her, “And that’s ok! Everything about you is perfect. You’re so fun to be around and I can never get my mind off of you. I… I never want to see you hurt or hurting like you are now. It feels… wrong.” He sighs, never taking his eyes off her.

He continues, “You… You know how to make me happy. If I’m having a bad day, you immediately know how to make it a million times better. I’ve never really met anyone who could do that. It sucks, it sucks so hard to see you hurting— knowing that you feel that way. I just want you to be happy, to make you happy… Just like you do to me.” She nods, expression melting under his gaze.

His admission hangs in the air. His eyes speak so loudly, never leaving hers. She sees them dart quickly to her lips and the tips of her ears burn hot. Before he can move she speaks.

“I’ve never been open with you because I… I…” She stammers not knowing if she has the courage to say it. To speak it into existence. _The ‘Unspoken Thing’_. There was a very real fear that seemed to consume and dictate their relationship. Fear of losing each other, fear of hurting one another somehow.

His brow softens, freckles dancing in the dim kitchen light. But the fear seems to dissipate as he continues to stroke her cheek. “I was scared of losing you. I was so, so terrified that if I told you, that somehow you would never see me the same. Tha-That you’d be scared to take on… me. Everything that comes with me. The baggage, the pain, the hurt… I feel the same way, y’know.”

A questioning look crosses his face, and she elaborates. “Seeing you hurt—the thought of it— feels wrong.” Her stomach twists and she looks down at her lap in shame.

He picks her head up, hands never leaving her, and guides her eyes back to his. It’s such an intimate moment, and her heart soars as he smiles.

“Just because you’ve had a hard past, just because you have to deal with these heavy thoughts, doesn’t mean you’ll hurt me. I care for you just as you care for me. You’ve dealt with me on my hard days, this is no different.”

She remembers the time he’s referring to, the days where the pressure from life, from streaming, became all too much for him. He’d show up to the apartment without a word— he never had to say anything— and she’d take him for a long drive, blasting ABBA or Panic at the Disco, torturing him with her horrendous singing.

“I’d carry your heart, Sage. I’d carry it to the ends of the earth if it meant you could find happiness.”

His eyes spell so many words, say so much more than she could ever imagine. They grace her face, before planting themselves on her lips once again. She knows what’s about to happen. She’s thought about it before— they both have. This moment, unlocked with such a fond emotion that cradled her fear away. He leaned forward in his stool, taking his other hand from where it had been on her lap, cradling her face with such a delicacy. Through half-lidded eyes, he pulls her in and they tenderly kiss.

Every thought, every emotion, is whisked away as his lips meet hers. They are soft and welcoming, and all she can do is just melt into the embrace. It feels right, kissing him. He’s so gentle and it takes her away from the pain and hurt she had been feeling before. Her heart swoops as he moves one hand down from her face, placing it on her hip.

They stay like that for what feels like an eternity before the moment is broken as he pulls away for air, and they both share a moment of relief.

“Took long enough,” she jokes, breaking the silence.

“So, you say?” He laughs, giggling and pulling away from her. She misses his touch but feels too wrapped up in the moment to care too much.

He pulls out the bottle of Tito’s from the box, standing up to grab cups. She joins him, rummaging through the fridge until she finds a half-empty jug of Hawaiian Punch and a random bottle of some Cherry soda.

She pours some of the punch into her empty Star Wars cup, letting him pour in the vodka. Adding the cherry soda to his, he pours in some of the Tito’s as well.

“Happy 21st!” His glass clinks with hers as they toast and both drink. As if in sync, they both laugh at each other, expressions puckering from the taste. The moment is light-hearted, enough for the memory of the heavy conversation they had just shared to float away. Clay takes another sip, leaning back on the stovetop.

Behind him the clock reads 02:49.

‘ _Did we really talked for that long?_ ’ She thinks distantly.

She shakes off the thought, smiling back at Clay over her glass. He opens his arms and she gladly takes the moment to embrace him once again.

They stay like that for a moment, before she looks up at him, eyes long since gone dry from crying.

“Stay?” She offers.

For a moment he looks shocked, but it fades almost instantly as he holds her closer. “Of course.”

Together, they make their way to her room, putting on a stupid reality show on her laptop and curling up together on her comforter. He holds her as they sip on their cocktails and laugh at the show.

Everything, the relief from sharing her thoughts to finally kissing him, seemed to dissipate as she curled into his side and let the alcohol flood her senses. The last thing she remembers before nodding off is Clay’s hold on her, soft and reassuring as ever.


	2. morning after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyy!
> 
> So I totally did not intend to write more or continue this, but I couldn't help myself. I've been meaning to get back into writing and this just happens to be the perfect outlet. 
> 
> Updates will not be on a regular schedule, but I'll try to get them out as fast as I can. The same tags from the last chapter still apply :)
> 
> If you're an auditory listener/ reader there are **SONGS** for this chapter!!! Que them up as follows:  
> Pacific by Sleeping at Last  
> Big Black Car by Gregory Alan Isakov  
> Nebraska by Oh Wonder

She woke up with a start, jolting up from the sheets that encased her. Heavy breaths filled the empty air as she collected her thoughts, before glancing around.

She distantly remembers last night— fogged over from the alcohol and heavy emotions. Clay sleeps silently beside her, snoring softly. His hair is jostled slightly, but he hadn’t moved since she was last aware. He looks peaceful, chest rising and falling at a steady pace.

Running a hand through her hair, she glances over to her bedside clock.

07:37

She hadn’t been asleep for very long, maybe a few hours at best. Her laptop had— at some point— been discarded to the side. She collects herself, taking deep steadying breaths, before settling carefully back into the covers. The man beside her stirs but makes no indication of waking up. She sighs in relief, pulling her legs up so she could curl into herself.

Memories and flashes from her dream come flitting back in short bursts. She shivers, willing them away. They were becoming increasingly normal— the bad dreams. It had become more of a regular occurrence in the past few years, feeding her insomnia. She knew that it wasn’t a good sign. The way bags under her eyes had become a more permanent feature, how staying asleep was starting to become impossible.

She tries not to think about having to go back to regular therapy. She checked in with a counselor every month or so— just as a preventative measure. It was supposed to help her return to some normalcy, but lately, everything felt heavier. Her trauma still weighs heavy on her shoulders, dragging her back into old habits.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she takes in a shuttering breath, trying to focus on Clay’s breath brushing against her neck. She takes comfort in the rhythm of it, slowing her breathing down to match his until she feels herself begin to calm down.

It makes her head all fuzzy as the feeling of calm washes over her like a wave. It’s super comforting, having his presence hot on her back and all she can do is just melt into the moment.

It wasn’t long until small streams of morning sun started to spill through her blinds. They dance and glow a soft yellow color, softening the atmosphere. Her brain is exhausted, mind overworked from that evening— or rather morning. But, with the soft glow of the sun seeping its way into her vision, she can’t force the sleep to come.

Carefully, ever so carefully, she picks herself up and scoots off the bed. Clay is still sound asleep, rolled over facing her direction. He looks so at peace, one arm snuck beneath a pillow, the other laying atop the crumpled comforter. His freckles stick out under the morning glow, playing soft shadows across his face. Everything about the scene looks so tranquil— almost picturesque.

She makes a grab at her phone, sitting on her side dresser, quickly glancing over the notifications.

**Instagram** 03:38

(sagersss): im_hanahhhhsz requested to follow you.

_(3 more notifications)_

**Messages** 06:04

_The Housewives_

Sarah: happy birthday bitch <3

Moira: why does it smell like an old person home in here

_(12 more notifications)_

**Gmail** 04:25

_Emma White_

Good Morning Sage. Hope this email finds you well over your holiday

break. I’ve processed your request for extended lab hours with the

research department on your behalf. They should get back to me …

_(5 more notifications)_

She skims over them, before setting her phone back down and rubbing her temples. The “morning-after" headache was starting to settle in leaving her feeling woozy on her feet. She swipes the empty glass sitting next to her phone, padding off to the kitchen for some water.

‘ _Christmas eve is tomorrow,_ ’ she absentmindedly collects, gulping down the water and a few aspirin from the medicine cabinet.

She hadn’t really had the chance to put up a tree in the apartment before everyone else headed off to their respective homes for the break. There was just a single snowflake taped to the wall above the TV. Tam had made it with some people in her educational seminar— “It’ll be a nice little touch to the wall,” she said.

In this moment, she’s glad it's there-- almost a little reminder that she’s not really _alone_ … Not anymore at least.

‘ _Right. Clay._ ’

She stirs from her thoughts, turning around to start a pot of coffee and make some breakfast for them.

She remembers him talking about having a— what was the word he used… Synced?— sleep schedule with a close friend who lived in England, so he was constantly up at all the wrong hours. She checks the stove clock, wondering if she should wake him from his slumber.

08:40

‘ _Maybe he has somewhere to be with his family today_ ,’ she thinks, biting at her thumbnail. ‘ _I mean it is, after all, almost Christmas eve_.’

The coffee pot whirrs and chirps behind her, grabbing her attention. She grabs her favorite mug— the one with dandelions and ferns dotted about— and pours herself a cup. It might not be the best medicine for her growing headache, but it was better than facing the looming cloud of exhaustion that threatened to pull her eyes shut. Taking a sip, mulling over the feeling, she returns the coffee pot to the machine and pulls out some bread and butter.

When she finishes lathering up the toast with a sufficient amount of butter to kill a man, she fills a second mug up with some of the coffee. Adding a splash of the sweetest creamer in their fridge— Riley’s favorite— to Clay’s cup, she balances the toast and coffee as she shuffles back off to her room.

Clay is still sleeping, as evidence by his light snoring, so she quietly maneuvers to her other bedside table, placing down the toast and coffee for him. She knew what he liked to eat for breakfast. She recalls the many times they’ve had ‘accidental’ sleepovers with her roommates after movie night or just insanely early mornings spent together. She’ll never understand why he likes enough butter too, quite literally, drown his toast, but she feeds it to him anyway.

She usually can’t stomach food in the morning, especially after a night of drinking— even if they only had a couple shots— so she just resorts to sipping gingerly on her coffee.

Her room, by all means, wasn’t very large. It was big enough to fit her queen bed, two small side tables, and a corner desk which was slowly turning into her ‘computer corner’. Her PC didn’t work yet, so right now it was just an empty desk. She plops down in her chair, pulling open her laptop which had been set there— most likely by Clay— at some point last night.

She sifts through her inbox, lazily sipping her coffee and taking in the various messages from Professors and the campus alert system.

When she’s finished, the clock reads 09:13.

Twirling in her chair, she once again settles to watch Clay. He was beginning to stir more, groaning and shifting as the morning light continued to flood through her cheap blinds. Sighing, she makes her way over to him, climbing back under the warmth of the comforter. The bed dips under her weight and she notices him crack open a sleepy eye before groaning back into the pillow.

She smiles, crawling up until she’s flush against his side, head planted lightly on his chest. She rubs gentle circles there as he starts to come to.

“Good morning sleepyhead,” she lightly remarks.

He huffs, groggily wiping the sleep from his eyes. “What time is it?”

He cranes his neck trying to catch a view of her bedside clock, before his eyes land on the mug of coffee and toast. He looks back at her with such a fondness in his eyes.

“Just the way you like it— way too much butter and a dash of liquid crack in the coffee.”

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. Her heart does a little backflip from the feeling, still trying to adjust to their newfound intimacy.

They both quickly adjust, her sitting up against the wall, knees drawn to her chest, cradling her mug, and Clay sitting up, pulling the plate onto his lap and sipping at the coffee.

“I’m sorry if I woke you up,” she says, taking a long draw from her mug.

He pauses from munching on his toast to look over at her, confusion gracing his features. “You didn’t wake me, don’t worry.”

He smiles, going back to munching on his toast. There’s still a weird feeling hanging in the air. It’s sticky and pervasive and it makes her want to curl up on herself and just try to forget everything that had happened last night.

It's hard being vulnerable and open with those whom you care most about-- emotionally draining and taxing in every aspect. It’s left her with a steadily growing headache and a sense of dread hanging deep in her stomach. And despite the serenity of the moment, she can’t help but feel ashamed.

“What time did you wake up?” He questions, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“7:30 I think.”

She considers lying— knowing that he might worry about her in some capacity— but she opts to be honest with him in this moment.

Just like she had expected, a worrying look crosses over his features before settling into something more fond. “Thanks for taking the time to make me toast,” he grins between bites of butter-soaked bread.

“I do not endorse your poor diet choices, but I’d rather not deal with ‘hangry Clay,’” she chides.

“Hangry Clay appreciates your kind donation.”

The conversation hangs empty in the air as they both silently scroll through notifications on their phones until she finally speaks up.

“Do you have anywhere to be today? I’d hate to be keeping you from something…” She offers nervously, biting her lip.

He looks up from his Twitter scroll— she notes— smiling at her. “You’re not keeping me from anything, don’t worry.”

Before she can respond, he’s turned his head back down to his phone continuing his scroll. She sighs, wringing her hands together nervously.

He picks up on this, though, almost immediately, dropping his phone and turning to look at her. “Why don’t we do something special today,” he offers. She raises an eyebrow as if to question the statement. “Like for your birthday. Seriously, there has to be something you want to do to celebrate,” He notes sincerely.

Right. Her birthday. That was _today_. It's tempting to jump at the opportunity, but she hesitates on her answer. In some twisted way, she still feels guilty. Whether that can be chalked up to years of hiding her past or just her reluctance to share, she still feels it. Her hands shake a little, running themselves through her hair, trying to work out her feelings.

Before she can even really do anything about it, he grabs her unsteady hands, holding them together gently. “Don’t overthink it, ok? It’ll be fun. I promise.”

His eyes are soft now, clearly picking up on her nervousness. “Ok,” she relents, letting herself melt back into his side.

“Anything specific you wanna do?” He inquires, pulling up his phone and going to google.

There wasn’t much they could do because of COVID. Either everything was closed or it wasn’t safe to visit. Plus, it must have snowed last night because there was now soft petals of white blotting their way against her windowsill. She realizes it all of sudden, calling upon fond memories of wintry days spent with her friends.

“Ice Skating?”

——————

It’s wintry bliss, light snowflakes settling their way down from the sky. Little kids run about, coats bundling them up, and parents chase and yell after them. There aren’t a ton of people at the ice rink, make around 10 or 15, as the pair make their way from the rental booth to the benches sitting near the rink edge.

“I haven’t skated in years,” she remise’s, plopping down on the cold metal bench next to Clay. He’s staring at the skates dangling from his hand like they’re a foreign object.

“I haven’t skated in… ever,” shaking his head with a laugh, he sets them down and starts to work on the laces.

She laughs, “It’s not super hard. You’ll be fine.” He gives her a wild look like she’s crazy. “Oh come on, you can’t be that bad.”

She was wrong. He is that bad.

She had figure skated briefly when she was younger, so it hadn’t been that hard to get used to again. Clay, however, was obviously struggling. Clutching the railing that surrounded the rink, his legs wobbled every few inches he glided forward.

Whenever he picked up a little speed, he’d slip and tumble to his knees. He’d then sigh and hang his head while she giggled, offering a hand to help him up.

This was the third time now. “Grab my hand,” she says, offering her hand once again.

“Pfft,” he puffs, batting it away, using the wall to help himself up. “No amount of coaching is gonna help me figure out how to make these things go.”

“Oh, come on just let me try,” she smiles, spinning around with ease and placing both her hands in front of her. He tilts his head to the side, finally smirking behind his mask and reaching out.

Almost immediately his feet slip back, but she holds strong dragging him forward and into a more balanced position.

“See?” She drawls, slowly moving backwards, pulling him with her.

She smiles inwardly at his expression— even though it was mostly hidden by a mask— laser-focused on the ice below him. His hair is slightly tousled, flattened by the beanie she let him borrow. His hands were big, practically engulfing hers as she dragged him forward. She didn’t mind though as they gripped hers like a life-line.

Only a few other people were on the ice with them, so she wasn’t worried about running into someone as she moved backwards.

He glanced up, green eyes meeting her smug expression.

“Oh come on,” he remarks, letting out a huff of air.

“Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this,” she gloats.

“This isn’t really my thing,” he pouts, losing his balance once again and almost bringing them both crashing down. He glowers. “I play minecraft for a living, I don’t think I’m really cut out to be an ice skater.”

“You know what, you’re probably right, Florida boy,” she chides.

“Wha-” before he can finish, she pulls him a little bit more, speeding up, and the momentum is just enough to make him fall, dragging her down with him.

There’s a beat of silence before they both erupt into laughter, gathering onto their hands and knees. She looks at him, like really takes him in, as he sits back on his ankles. His cheeks are rosy red from the cold, poking out from behind his black mask. The pink of his nose sneaks out as well, making his freckles stand out even more. He continues to laugh, remarking her, quote, ‘equally horrible’ skating skills.

“I’m not the one who can’t go a few feet without eating shit,” she stands up with practiced ease, dusting the snow from her legs.

He looks up at her, face hot from laughing. “Didn’t you say you were going to teach me?”

“Yes, but you’re clearly unteachable,” she boasts, taking his hesitation to skate circles around him— just out of reach.

“Oh come on. Now you’re just taunting me,” he groans, trying to make his way back up to his feet. He doesn’t get far, slipping back onto his butt.

She shrugs, spinning to do backward crossovers around him. It’s effortless, but only for a few seconds before her blade catches on the un-groomed ice and she’s sent tumbling down in front of him. She groans, sucking in a breath pained breath.

‘ _That’s gonna bruise_ ,’ she thinks, rolling over to face him.

He looks worried for a second, concern dancing across his features, but it dissipates when she gives him a warm smile from behind her mask.

“I’ve learned from the best,” he cackles falling onto his back to wheeze at her.

They laugh about it for another minute, before she stands up, dragging him with her. It’s slow going, making their way back to the rink entrance, but eventually, Clay reaches out and grips the rail.

There's a moment where she looks around and takes it all in. The sky is graying slightly, duping small bits of buttery soft snow down onto them. The snowflakes cascade down in the still air, dusting her eyelashes and everything around her. Most of the other people there have long since left, leaving them and only a few others on the ice. She takes the opportunity to breathe in and will it all away. There’s still that slight pounding behind her temples, and she rubs at them absentmindedly.

Clay catches onto her pained expression awfully fast, making his way over to her— albeit wobbly— and grabbing her wrist. She’s pulled out of her observations as he looks down on her with a caring expression.

A question glances his figure, eyebrows knitting together in curiosity.

“I’m fine,” she offers him.

He doesn’t move, gloved hands still holding her wrists as they rub angry circles on her temples.

“We can go back to your place if you need. It’s ok to give yourself time.”

If there was one thing Clay was good at, it wasn’t babying her. He knew what she needed and knew how to help her without pushing her boundaries. It made her feel safe— cared for. He always knew how to give her space and time when she needed it. It’s different now, though. Or at least, it feels different. He cares— she can see the worried look behind his evergreen eyes— and the last thing she wants to do is burden him more than she already has.

Biting her lip in thought, she drops her hands with a pout. He continues to hold them softly, adjusting his grip as they fall.

“I just feel like I’m making you drag me around. Don’t you have, like, streams planned or places to be?” She wants to give him a reason to excuse himself— a reason to not worry.

He huffs, shaking his head lightly. “ _Sage_ ,” he starts, reaching up and cupping her cheek, “You don’t have to feel guilty about spending time with me.”

‘ _God he always knows_.’

“There is literally nowhere else I’d rather be than right here with you,” he consoles.

There’s a soft tension that returns— if only for a moment— before it fades and she gives him a weak smile.

“I don’t wanna go wallow in my apartment if I’m being completely honest,” she confesses. For a moment she wants to suggest going to his place. She’s only been once— on a complete whim— and she’s never had the chance to _really_ see it.

As if hearing her thoughts, the corners of his eyes crinkle with a smile. “Wanna come to my place? I have hot cocoa and we could watch a movie or something.”

“I’d love that,” she agrees, feeling the tension ease from behind her brows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I STRUGGLED writing this one. 
> 
> Dialogue isn't my strong suit, so writing scenes that are light-hearted/ dialogue-heavy has proven to be a challenge. It's kinda tricky to make things sound organic while balancing my own headcanons I have for their characters. 
> 
> Like, for example, the fact that Dream likes too much butter on his toast and can't ice skate. I don't know if either of those things are /actually/ true but they are in this sense. 
> 
> I PROMISE there will be SapNap, George, Tommy, ect. content in the coming chapters. I have some super fun ideas for this story and I'm really excited to get back into writing again!!


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